


Galo Thymos’s Spectacular 24/7 Rescue and Repair Squad of Dreams and Prosperity

by orphan_account



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: An Unofficial Sequel I Guess, Canon Compliant, Everyone Getting More Screen Time, M/M, Movie Spoilers, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, multi-chaptered, plot with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-10-26 22:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lio’s doing it for the money. Or so he tells himself, at first - until everything goes to hell.





	1. inferno

**Author's Note:**

> howdy gang. I learned about Promare like not even a week ago. watched the movie four days ago. it's now consumed my whole life and since it might be ten years 'til we get like the post-movie animated series I gotta make my own food so here we go. please enjoy and let me know whatcha think!!
> 
> ALSO we have fanart!! please check it out!!  
1: [Fan art of Lio's cool jacket by Lizzy](https://twitter.com/hatsunelizzu/status/1178492989049643009?s=20)  
2: [MORE fan art of Lio's cool jacket by Maki](https://twitter.com/MakioKuta/status/1177628926811574272?s=20)

And so, it burns -

\- and it _burns -_

(brighter than any star in the sky, than any lightshow the Burning Rescue squad can conjur, than any hopes and dreams an addled madman deludes himself into pursuing. The roars of the _Promare_, like a choir of untrained children, shriek in unison as they consume the planet, lighting everything and every person in their path one by one by one by millions by billions. Nothing remains sacred; all become bathed in flames as the _Promare_ reach their crescendo, hurdling into the twinkling skies above, fleeing into the rift.

Lio outstretches his hand. His _Promare_ sputters and spits in his palm, dwindling into but a speck, before returning with its fellow brethren through the rift.

_It’s over. It’s done. Farewell. Goodbye. Thank you, for every -)_

\- until the Burnish are no more but a memory.

The rubble once called Promepolis greets a new day in a haze. Lio’s and Galo’s knuckles press together, briefly, as an unsaid promise. Citizens stumble around the crashed ship to steal a glance of their old ashamed hero - who deemed them worthy to be abandoned - on his knees close to the wreckage. Galo’s teammates approach the world’s _newest_ heroes, expressions ranging from muted to gleeful. 

At first, no one says anything; a few hesitant smiles, Galo’s dopey grin stretching from ear to ear, and Lio simply folding his arms across his chest.

“So,” the one wearing glasses says, glancing at the scene that belonged in a cheap apocalypse flick ported directly to Netflix, “what now?”

“What _else?_” Galo replies, hooking an arm around Lio’s neck. He points to the ship. “First, we get everyone outta there. And then?”

His gaze shifts skyward.

“Pizza, on me.”

“Wow! Look at you, trying to be cool. You don’t have any _money,”_ the pink-haired girl interjects, hands on her hips. “Remember? You spent it all on that ‘shiny new toy’ the other day. The speedy bike? And besides, the usual places got turned into fuel during the battle.”

“On me,” Galo repeats, nodding to himself. The group collectively sighs, but the shared sparkle in their eyes hardly dims. 

After all, they saved home - a little damaged, sure, but nothing a little elbow grease couldn’t fix. 

***

Burning Rescue holds an emergency meeting about twenty-four hours after what becomes known as “The Ark Incident”; an appropriate name for Foresight’s attempt at playing God and deeming the world unsalvageable, Lio surmises. 

Despite the main headquarters bearing a large brunt of Lio’s draconic assault and the force of the ark’s take-off sequence, everyone squeezes inside, stepping over caved-in walls and ash-coated floors. Somehow, the short one - _Lucia,_ his brain supplies - bangs on her projector a few times and gets it to display one of the more _interesting_ slideshows Lio ever saw. The hologram flickers a few times before remaining steady, displaying emboldened letters reading, “**THE GREAT PROMEPOLIS REVIVAL PLAN VER. 2.7**”. Galo stands beside the slide, arms folded across his chest, before clearing his throat.

“Alrighty, guys.” He cocks his head toward the slide. “I worked on this all last night after our rescue work finished to make sure it’s as perfect as me, so I’m gonna go over how we’re going to make Promepolis the best city this side of the country.”

“Question.” The glasses guy - _Remi,_ Lio’s exasperated brain informs - raises his hand. “What exactly happened to versions one-point-oh to two-point-six?”

“Also,” Naina - _Aina!_ Lio’s mind corrects (_give me credit, I’m tired_) - adds, “if you really worked on it all last night, when did you get any sleep?”

A beat passes. Galo strokes his chin, making appropriate thoughtful sounds, before pressing a button on his remote control, changing the slide and completely ignoring both questions. The title card becomes an overhead view of the damaged Promepolis. In the center resides that god-forsaken ship. If Lio still had his _Promare_ \- his chest tightens, and tears sting at his eyes for the briefest moment - he would have burned it into smithereens by now. While he might no longer be blessed by alien entities, he’s sure he can find a TNT supplier somewhere. He makes a mental note to ask around later.

The presentation goes on. And on. And on. Galo’s voice becomes a grating white noise, with others interjecting here and there about this, that, and the other. Why is he even here? Lio glances toward the shattered window, the blue tarp once poorly taped over it fallen onto the floor. His thoughts wander to Gueira and Meis (_“Don’t worry ‘bout it, boss, we’ll handle everything while you’re at that meeting!” “Yeah, you can count on us, man. We’ll keep chippin’ away at relocatin’ all of us.”_) and frowns. His foot taps against the floor from growing impatience. He should be with them right now, helping out, instead of participating in - in whatever _this_ is. Galo sure loves to hear himself talk.

“How long has this gone on for,” Lio mutters

“About twenty minutes or an hour, I lost track,” answers Remi.

“Any key points I missed while daydreaming about being anywhere else right now?”

“Something something ‘we’re in this together’ and the usual bouts of promising a new dawn and…” Remi yawns, then pushes up his glasses. “Us being on-call for the citizens whenever they need it, since we’re being rebranded into the newly founded ‘Galo Thymos’s Spectacular 24/7 Rescue and Repair Squad of Dreams and Prosperity’.”

What. Lio’s frown deepens. “Since when did you all agree on _that_ name?”

“We didn’t. He just made it up. Ignis _told_ him to keep his so-called plan _brief,_ but we’ve gotten woefully off-topic.” Remi makes a point to raise his voice, interrupting Galo’s continuous ramblings. “If we want to help citizens like you say, shouldn’t you, oh, I don’t know, actually have an _action_ plan?”

“Geez, fine, since you’re so keen on rushing me.” He skips several slides - Lio does a double-take at a Google Images kitten somewhere toward the middle - before stopping on a bulleted list. He taps the slide a few times, hand going through the projection as if he forgot it is a hologram, before his open mouth pauses. His free hand grabs an unopened can, which he proceeds to open with his _teeth,_ then chugs the - Lio tilts his head to get a better glimpse of the “cool kids font” sprawled on the side - _Mega Monster Energy Drink (Swell Grape Flavored)_ in one go. Who exactly allowed _him_ to come up with the emergency contingency plan again? He tosses the can aside and continues.

“Since the center of town has the worst damages, I say we make teams and concentrate our efforts, uh, ‘round here.” He circles close to the ship. “First, I’m thinking Lucia and Varys should team up together and help deconstruct the ship. I’m sure your sister’s more than willing to help scrap that thing, right, Aina?”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” she says with a nod.

“Cool, cool. And then once it’s gone, we can make a cool statue of myself in its stead -”

Aina throws the empty can at his head. Galo gives a sheepish grin, rubbing his forehead, before shrugging.

“ - buuuut we can go over those details later, I guess. So, for other task forces, I’m thinking Aina, Iggy, and Remi take both land and sky to search for those still injured that we might have missed. This will be done for the next few days before that turns into building assistance. You know, making new places to live, cleaning up streets, yadda yadda.” 

“My name is Ignis,” the chief says, mustache bristling.

Galo makes another thoughtful sound before snapping his fingers. Lucia giggles and procures a sticky note name tag, flowery handwriting reading _Iggy_, the “I” dotted with a little star, before slapping it onto the Chief’s shirt. Aina’s eyes widen as her cheeks puff behind her hand, poorly hiding a stifled laughter threatening to bubble over. Remi coughs and ducks his head while Varys _snorts._

“Galo Thymos,” the chief sighs and shakes his head, “if you didn’t just save the world…”

“So that leaves me and Lio,” Galo resumes, and Lio’s head snaps up, “to take care of the ‘odds and ends,’ meaning we’re gonna do everything and anything on-call--”

“I’m not a member of Burning Rescue.” All eyes turn to Lio, who straightens his back. “I said I’d lend you my support, which is why I showed up to this meeting in the first place, but don’t think we’re all buddy-buddy just because we saved the world together. There’s too many rules you ‘heroic’ organizations have, and that just doesn’t go with my style. Besides, I have my _own_ agenda to attend to in helping former Burnish. Remember? Ex-leader of the Mad Burnish?”

An overwhelming silence settles over the squad. The mouse on Lucia’s shoulder squeaks and hides itself in one of her hair buns. Galo blinks once, then twice, before tapping the remote several times backward. 

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong,” he says, pointing at the screen, “It’s _Galo Thymos’s Spectacular 24/7 Rescue and Repair Squad of Dreams and Prosperity,_ remember?” Ignis grunts in disapproval. “So yeah, you’re not a member of Burning Rescue, no worries.”

“That’s not the _point,_” Lio replies, brow furrowing. “I’m saying don’t lump me in with your little group. We’re in entirely different worlds.”

“I think you’re standing right here in front of me. See?” Galo approaches him and pokes Lio’s shoulder. “I can touch you and everything.” 

“Is there a reason why you’re being so obstinate about this?”

Galo looks to Aina, who rolls her eyes. “It means stubborn,” she clues in.

“Ohhh, gotcha. Well! See.” He gestures vaguely to everyone around him. “I have a dream that everyone can get along, you know? Ex-Burnish and people who never were Burnish. To do _that, _I wanna show that we can work together. And we _do_ work well together, you and I.” A strange glimmer forms in his stupid-looking eyes, exuding far too much optimism Lio can handle. He turns away, but Galo keeps talking, unabated. “Plus, I hear the city’s gonna give us a butt-load of money for our restoration efforts, which can go to your friends in helping them get better housing and stuff.”

The bait dangles so _obviously,_ and yet Lio finds himself biting regardless. His gaze shifts back to Galo’s dopey grin, eyes narrowing. “How much are we talking here?”

Lucia - _how much prepared material does she have in her coat pockets?_ \- passes him a slip of paper with an exuberant amount of zeros. Even split between a group as large as this, it still would cover everything he imagines the ex-Burnish needs, plus some. A beat passes, the group staring as Lio feels his resolve crumple to ash. That money could help so many people get back on their feet. To pass it up would be foolish. He hands Lucia back the paper, eyes shutting, before letting out a defeated sigh.

“_Fine,_” he concedes, but he holds up a hand to interrupt Galo’s triumphant holler. “But I’m _not_ wearing the stupid uniform. I get to wear my own clothes. Got it?”

“Not for nothing, but you haven’t been wearing a shirt for over twenty-four hours now,” Remi says. “Do you _have_ any other clothes? Ones that didn’t catch on fire during your rampage?”

Lio’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, his arms folding across his chest.

“I hope you have a spare size small,” he grouses, and he _swears_ he hears Galo snicker victoriously in the background. 

***

They have a size medium. Its offensively bright orange sleeves poof around his arms, swishing with every swing. If not for the cuffs, the fabric would swim over his hands. To their credit, both Gueira and Meis manage to stifle their laughter in time before Lio can give them a death glare more powerful than any _Promare_ dared dream to become. 

“Nice digs, boss,” Meis says, and Gueira elbows him to shut up.

“Can it.” He glances around the temporary haven provided for ex-Burnish with a frown. The Promepolis Stadium, home to a plethora of sports teams he can’t be bothered to keep up with, withstood both the flames and the mass destruction laying waste to most of the city. The leftover city council members offered the building as an olive branch, saying “their kind” could live there until better accommodations become available. Given the amount of displaced persons as a result of the Earth’s almost-destruction, that could be too long for Lio’s liking. “How is everyone faring?”

“Happy to not have their souls sucked out from those damned turbines.” Meis pushes his hair back over his shoulder. “Thanks to that scientist lady and your friend there, we only had a few casualties that we could find. Would’ve been much worse if they hadn’t crashed the ship. Aside from ten or so in critical care, everyone else has minor injuries.”

_A few._ A few too many. Lio grits his teeth, hands balling into fists. “I see.” He makes a mental note to visit the families of those who passed away to offer his condolences once everything settles down. 

“We also managed to split up the provisions given to us evenly, Boss!” Guiera grins, gesturing to the rows upon rows of beds littered throughout the stadium. In the distance, children playing tag laugh, dodging each other. “City’s been _real_ helpful for a change, giving us almost everything we asked for. Guess that Foresight guy being implicated for murder made ‘em real nervous about public opinion, ‘specially since that Mados guy -”

“Galo,” Lio corrects.

“ - yeah, him. He be on our side, and since he helped save the planet, I’m sure they’re none too keen on pissing _you_ off, Boss, lest they get an earful from their hero.”

“So what’s the plan?” Meis looks Lio up and down. “You joinin’ them firefighters?”

“Not exactly. Kind of. Somewhat. I’m joining…” He unfurls the piece of paper in his pocket, squinting at Aina’s bubbly handwriting. “_Galo Thymos’s Spectacular 24/7 Rescue and--_ugh.” He crumples the paper and stuffs it back into his pocket. “It’s temporary because there’s a lot of money attached to it. I’d be an idiot to pass it up. Once I get the check, we can start proper relocations and everything. Get everyone housing. Maybe hire a lawyer who can help with the reintegration process or whatever.”

“They have that kinda money to spare?” Meis asks. “Wouldn’t they be using it to rebuild the city instead of giving city workers big piles of cash?”

“Well, think ‘bout it, dude.” Guiera jabs a thumb toward one of the stadium’s windows, where the crashed ship sticks out like a sore thumb in the backdrop. “They arrested the mega-billionaire guy, yeah? They must’ve seized all his assets, yeah? Why _not_ use that extra cash to motivate city workers to double-down on their rebuilding efforts? And the irony of _Boss_ joinin’ them - what better way to kick the asshole’s teeth in by givin’ all that money back to the Burni--er, ex-Burnish? S’kinda genius if you think about it. It’s, like, the next-best revenge other than, you know. Kicking the ex-guv’s teeth in. Boss is an absolute mad lad. Big brain strats.”

“Bro.” Meis tears up, grabs Lio’s shoulders, and shakes him. “You’re a _genius,_ dude.”

“What are you even _talking_ about? I literally did not come up with any of that.”

“We should totally give the ex-guv a visit in prison after we cash in on his funds,” Gueira continues, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “_That_ would be next-gen ice cold. Whaddaya think, Boss?”

They aren’t even listening to him anymore. Still, their banter put Lio at ease; he wouldn’t choose any other lieutenants than these two. He sighs, yet smiles all the same. “I’m sure we can pen that in the schedule somewhere after all our work is done.”

“Speakin’ of work. Boss,” Gueira purses his lips, “since you’re working with them firefighters, do you want us to act in your stead for the Burnish relocation project? That way you ain’t gotta worry about juggling too much at once.”

“We’re doing it,” Meis adds before Lio can answer. “No worries, Boss - we’ve got this covered. You get that cash, and we’ll handle the rest. Except for diplomacy stuff. We’ll give you a ring if we need you for that.”

“Boss doesn’t have a cell phone, dumbass. But this city ain’t _too_ huge, we’ll find ya. Just make sure to stop by from time to time, yeah? We’ll miss you if you work too much.” Gueira sniffs, then pulls Lio and Meis into a hug. “Dammit, man, I’m so _happy_ we’re okay. It’s like we can see the light at the end of the tunnel for everythin’ we ever tried to work for, you know? Just a little longer, and we’ll be scott-free.”

Meis grunts to hide his own sniffles. “Don’t get sappy on us, man. We still got awhile before any of that. But,” he tightens the group hug, “I’m happy, too.”

They remain in the hug for several moments. Lio swallows hard and forces himself to remain stoic. If he sheds a tear in secret, neither of them know it from the discrete swipe of his hand against his cheek. He pulls away first, glancing at them both with a faint smile, before shrugging out of the Burning Rescue coat and handing it to Meis.

“Before I work for those idiots,” he says, “please do something about this atrocity. I’m going to take a quick nap in the meantime, if you don’t mind.” He flops on one of the city-provided emergency beds - an amenity as uncomfortable as it sounds - and allows himself to relax for the first time since - well, everything. His muscles ache. His mind, even more so; the prospect of having to deal with _Galo_ for however long almost makes him question if the money is even worth the trouble. Then again, if not for Galo’s valiance, the world might not exist anymore. 

A glint flashes in Meis’s eyes, and Gueira, like magic, pulls out a box jam-packed with sewing supplies, studs, patches, and other miscellaneous knick-knacks. How that box, covered in band stickers and other nonsensical memorabilia, survives through every catastrophe, Lio will never understand. 

“Aye aye, Boss.” A threaded needle glints beneath the stadium lights, poised over the jacket like a hawk eying its prey. “Sweet dreams.”

“Make it _cool,_” Lio adds, then covers his head with the pillow to hide his eyes from the annoying brightness. 

***

(He dreams about a spark, floating endlessly in the darkness. It flickers, then falters, then hurdles down, down, down toward an icy lake, its momentum too great to change directions in time, and surely, _surely_ it will be extinguished -

\- but a man rises from beneath the water’s calm surface, just in time to catch it, despite how it must burn. Blue. All Lio can see is blue, and the dream vanishes, leaving him in peace for a change.)


	2. pro//mare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back y’all I’m still high on promare and I desperately want to rewatch it but I can’t so until sunday so I just gotta. sit here. suffer slowly. and so, here is chapter two. Enjoy

“Boss. Hey, Boss.” 

Knuckles lightly rap against Lio’s cheek, who responds with a tired grumble. He rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. If he ignores it long enough, maybe he can go back to sleep. A moment passes, and he thinks he’s won - only for the itchy blanket to be pulled away, exposing him to the lightly air conditioned chill of the stadium. He whines and scrunches up his face in defiance.

“Boss, ain’t you got work today? We finished your jacket.”

Work? Since when does he have a day job? Him leading the Mad Burnish has atypical hours, his lieutenants _know_ that, so why are they -

“Uhh, what’s it now…” The sound of paper crinkles, and Meis clears his voice. “It’s your first day working for _Galo Thymos’s Spectacular--_”

Rage bubbles and boils in Lio’s veins, jerking him upright on the flimsy mattress. That _infuriating_ name! Who permissed the world’s number one idiotic firefighter to conjur up such a narcissistic and wordy organization title that wouldn’t even fit on a standard business card, let alone the header of any website or URL? And he has the nerve to suggest _Mad Burnish_ is weird? His fingers twitch in irritation before doing a double-take. 

Both Meis and Gueira stare at him. Lio stares back. 

A beat passes. And another.

“What time is it?” he asks at last.

“Stupid o’clock in the morning?” Gueira gives a punctual yawn. “Like, before sunrise or somethin’. The note says something ‘bout being there at five for the ‘morning meeting.’ Can’t believe _you_ took a position where ya have to be awake this early, Boss.”

Oh, _shit,_ that’s right, he actually _agreed_ to be a member of their so-called temporary restoration team. He stands abruptly, fingers combing through his mussed hair, and stifles a large yawn. A granola bar smacks against his face, and he barely catches it before it lands on the floor. Peanut butter and chocolate. He tears the wrapper open and scarfs it down in time for the offered cup of coffee. Meis already has his comb ready, tugging away the fairy knots in Lio’s hair, as Gueira pours a splash of cream into the cup.

“Anything I should know before I leave for today?” Lio asks between sips. The coffee is lukewarm and possesses a higher acidity than he likes. He wrinkles his nose and sets it aside.

“We’re gonna go check on the ones in critical care in the hospital,” Meis says, yanking the comb at a particularly stubborn knot, “and then we’re gonna create a list of those who are in most need for relocation. Families, mostly, and the elderly. Gueira’s gonna handle the elderly bit, ‘cause I _think_ if we can play our cards right, we can get them into assisted living facilities.”

“Only takes a _little_ persuasion,” Gueira adds with a grin.

“The good ol’ puppy eyes trick.” Meis grins with him. “Never fails.”

“Tell that to my ex-girlfriend. I gotta success rate of, like, eighty-five percent now. She knocked it down a pinch.” He laughs and holds up the oversized orange jacket as Meis finishes Lio’s hair. The former atrocity now glitters with _flare_; the shoulders sport spikes while the poofy sleeves alternated with black, white, and orange reflective stripes. The back displays a plethora of triangular patches - the one in the center being the largest and bearing neon pink font reading “Mad Burnish.” “So,” he says, winking, “cool, right?”

Lio struggles to keep his lips in a straight line as he accepts a miracle from God Himself. While it still doesn’t fit properly, it no longer looks _stupid._ “It’s good,” he says. Perfect, given what they had to work with. He _swishes_ it on. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Boss.” Gueira whistles. “Lookin’ sharp enough to save all the cats outta trees. Go get ‘em, Tiger - make us proud.”

“And don’t forget,” Meis adds, tone dipping into more serious territory, “being with firefighters means you’re probably gonna be working with fire at some point or another. We aren’t Burnish anymore, so make sure you wear gloves or something on the job. Don’t hurt yourself.”

A distinct _pang_ grips Lio’s chest as he sucks in a sharp breath. Right. His _Promare_ is gone, having passed through the rift, never to be seen again. No voices urge in his ears anymore other than his own - a quiet voice, one filled to the brim with an undying rage against the world, one that yearns for something he doesn’t want to see in himself. Not yet. He has work to do.

“Right,” he acknowledges, eyes downcast. “Well. I’m off. Don’t let Gueira get in too much trouble with the authorities.”

“Hey, why’re you singlin’ _me_ out! I ain’t gotta actual criminal record! Aside from, you know, terrorism, but like, that’s _justified_ terrorism. Kinda.”

“I shoplifted when I was sixteen. Big whoop.” Meis rolls his eyes, then waves. “Later, Boss. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll see you when you get home.”

Home. Lio’s gaze shifts to the rows upon rows of sleeping bags and cots, then to the high ceiling overhead. How many places did they call “home” before it all came crashing down around them? He slips on his boots and gives a two-fingered salute.

“See you when I get back,” he replies, then heads toward the large glass doors where the sunlight just barely begins peaking over the horizon.

***

A little less than forty-eight hours since Promepolis’s destruction, and people are already starting to try to move on in little ways. The coffee shop on the corner of Allen and Read, despite a blown-out window and scorched sign, has a line of city workers waiting for their cup of joe. The smell of Street Side Bakery, run by a single mother, mutes the scent of napalm and charcoal with fresh bagels and breads. Tarps cover the remaining apartment buildings’ windows, doors are made from thin boards. A thin veneer of normalcy splits around the city’s many winding streets in hopes that they can all move on.

Lio wonders, briefly, if the ex-Burnish _ever_ can get over the past.

(Crying. He can hear the sobs of small Burnish children as the turbines roar, deafening, chipping their bodies into ash bit by bit by bit, and he can’t stop it, no, he cannot - instead, in being the new heart of the ship’s engine, he keeps pushing them, keeps them floating in suspended agony, and only if he were stronger, he could stop it, but that damn _Foresight_ proves himself one step ahead, always and forever, and now - and _now_ \- )

He bangs his head against a slightly bent streetlight.

“Well,” says a calm, sophisticated voice, “I can tell _you’re_ a morning person.”

Another cup of coffee appears in Lio’s swimming vision, sleeved with the local shop’s logo. He takes it dazedly before glancing up at Remi, who carries even _more_ cups in his hands. Seven more, to be precise, all with glossy Sharpie marker words reflecting in the dawn light. _Aina. Galo. Lucia..._

Remi glances Lio over, eyebrow raised, before turning on his heel. “I don’t know your order yet,” he says as he walks ahead. Lio blinks and follows him, noting a cardboard box looped through his belt dangling by his side. “Write it down for me and tape it to my locker when you have a chance, and I’ll make sure to have it memorized.”

“What are you, the Burning Rescue’s secretary?” Lio cocks his head back to guzzle the coffee, only to jerk it away and choke as it burns his tongue. It prickles and _stings._ He stares at the cup, betrayed. Stings?

“I just got those,” Remi says calmly, “so drink it slow. And no - I’m the Lieutenant, one step below Ignis, our captain. As such, it’s my job to make it easier for him, given the… er… _interesting_ characters we have in our crew.” 

Stings. Lio barely misses stepping into a gouge in the sidewalk from his current terrible revelation. “Oh,” he supplies lamely as the silence between them grows a little too long. 

“Since you’re new, I’m obligated to show you the ropes.” Remi hoists the coffee carriers above his head and shimmies through the tiny gap between a line of toppled and burned vehicles. “That said, I do have my… _concerns_ about this scenario.”

“What,” Lio says after opening the cup’s top and _blowing_ on the scalding liquid, “working with an ex-Burnish as a pseudo-firefighter?”

“Burnish or not has no relevance anymore about your possible performance.” He sets down the coffee carriers on the ground before offering his hand to Lio. “Give me that before you spill it trying to wedge through there.” He takes the cup and waits for Lio to get through the vehicular barricade before giving it back. “It’s what I observed during your little spat with Foresight. You need to keep a cool head in the field, or else you put yourself - or others - at risk of getting hurt.”

“I _am_ cool,” Lio retorts, taking another hesitant sip of coffee. A _smidge_ better, but his tongue still recoils all the same. He grimaces. “I’ve kept scores of people safe with my actions. Rescued them. I don’t think you need to worry.”

Remi hums in thought as they round the corner. There resides the Burning Rescue headquarters, its shiny glass windows and sparkling sign all turned to charcoal and debris. The garage doors, scorched black, still shields its precious vehicles from potential threats. Someone wedged solid steel beams to prop up the collapsed main entrance’s doorway, but still no new door. Oh well. Serviceable enough.

“Hold on.” Remi holds up a leg and blocks the entrance before Lio can enter. His glasses glint. “Carry one of these, and I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

Lio blinks as a coffee carrier is thrust into his hands. “Coast is clear?” he asks.

“Well.” Remi fumbles awkwardly through his pocket and pulls out a small rock, then tosses it through the door. It hops and skids for a second, rattling, before something _beeps_ and _splats._ He lets out an exasperated sigh and drops his leg, taking the coffee carrier. “It’s all good now. Lucky for us she used more basic technology than usual. Watch for the wet spots. _Lucia!_ I know you’re in there! For the last time, we do not greet new members with a paint bomb! Lucia!”

The floors - cleaned up from yesterday, although the fresh coats of orange and blue glistening beneath the temporary hazard lamps tell a different story - bear less signs of damage than before. A new reception desk - oak, Lio guesses, easy to burn, another part of Lio assesses - gives the space a friendlier feel to the once-barren space. He steps over the paint pool and follows Remi through another door and down a dimly-lit hallway. Then upstairs. Then more stairs. 

Finally, they reach the top. Lio’s legs, despite how much effort he puts in keeping shape, whine in protest.

“This is the locker room,” Remi says, jerking his head toward a brown, flammable door. “It also leads to the emergency pole, which takes us straight down to the emergency vehicles. I’ll get you your locker combination after the meeting and today’s assignment.”

They go through the door opposite of the locker room. A cool breeze sweeps through as they enter, one of the broken windows still unattended to. A rickety desk and chairs sits in the center, where Lucia types away at… something. She peeks up from behind her screen before puffing her cheeks.

“Aw, _phooey,_” she says, then resumes typing. “You never let me have fun anymore!”

“You didn’t even set it up properly.” Remi sets down the coffees and shakes his head. “A mere _pebble_ triggered your little ‘surprise.’ I thought the last time you made one, you relied on thermal signatures.”

“I can’t do anything too fancy with the building as it is,” she whines. “Give me _some_ credit. Ooh!” She abruptly rises from her seat and points emphatically point at Lio, eyes sparkling. Warning bells begin sirening in his head as she lunges over the desk, pulling at his jacket. “So cool,” she says, tugging at his sleeves. “So _fashionable._”

“Uh.” He steps back. “Thanks.”

“I’m stealing this design,” she says, and doesn’t elaborate further as she returns to her seat, swiping the coffee with her name on it. 

“Where’s Chief?” Remi approaches the broken window and whistles as he looks down.

“Not here yet.” She stretches, joints popping in several disconcerting places. “He said something about ‘waking the idiot up so that he’s here on time for a change.’”

Remi sighs. He takes the cup with his own name on it and takes a slow, calculated sip, leaning against the barren window frame. Isn’t he supposed to be the smart one? And he has the nerve to lecture Lio about “safety” while risking a five-story tumble? He rolls his eyes and finishes off his cooled coffee. Not enough sugar, but it’s free, so he’s not going to complain.

Varys arrives next, sweat glistening as if he just sprinted. He nods his head and gets his coffee, guzzling it with careless abandon, before flopping in his chair with a grunt. Then Aina, yawning loudly as she meanders to an open seat, forehead pressing against the table. Her fingers outstretch and nab the only iced drink of the bunch (topped with whipped cream and sprinkles) and slides it closer to herself. Lio could almost taste the sugar from where he sat. 

“Everything ever hurts,” she complains, forcing her head up and pushing the tip of the straw between her lips. 

“You’re telling _me._” Varys rolls his shoulder with a _pop._ “Overtime’s the worst.”

“Spending too many hours in that tiny cockpit gives me back pain! I need something with more space. Luuuuuuciaaaaa,” Aina begins to implore in a sing-song voice, “if you have extra tiiiiime, can you do me a favor?”

Tap tap tap. Tap. Pause. Tap tap - “If you give me your Bun Bun Limited Edition Squishy, then sure, you have a deal.” - tap.

“I shoulda _known_ you were gonna say that...” 

Heavy, plodding footsteps - followed by a heavier _thud_ of deadweight - silences the room. Idiot extraordinaire Galo Thymos faceplants into the floor, body contorting cartoonishly as the chief arrives. Even indoors, he wears sunglasses. Gueira would chalk that up to the “rule of cool.” Lio chalks it up to “one day going to walk into a screen door on accident.”

Despite the general consensus of exhaustion, everyone immediately straightens their backs out of respect for the chief. The silence grows as Chief eyes the table. Remi returns from his flirtation with the abyss and sets the cardboard box attached to his hip in the center, pulling it open. Doughnuts. Lio licks his lips, eyeing the chocolate frosted one with piqued interest. 

“Good morning everyone.” The Chief reaches over and plucks the butternut doughnut out. “It’s another long day ahead of us. The night crew’s headquarter restoration process is going a bit faster than expected, and the damages to our vehicles have been assessed as minimal. Aside from _Galo’s_ mech, everyone else’s should be fully operational.”

Remi stands beside the chief and clears his throat. “I’ve also took time into reviewing Galo’s suggestions and have approved the timetables listed. They’ve been sent to your e-mails. Please remember that emergencies supercede any and all assignments, so ensure your walkies are working properly before your departure.”

Lio nabs the coveted doughnut, then points to the sitting-up Galo. “We’re the ones on-call, right? So what are we supposed to do today?”

“You are to work with the citizen recovery team,” Remi gestures to Aina, Ignis, and himself, “as saving anyone still trapped is a priority. Thanks to outside assistance, a great majority of the main streets have already been searched, but we’re pushing for time on the lesser-traveled areas. I have the street assignments prepared for us as well - if we work quickly, we can get a good eighty percent of the side streets taken care of today while our assistance takes care of the rest.”

Given how much time has passed, Lio doubts they’ll find many buried beneath the rubble to still be among the living. He nods regardless. 

“Let’s do this thing, then!” Galo jumps up and poses. “No time like the present!”

“But _first,_” Remi says, a binder materializing in his hands (where did he get that from?), “Lio needs to be introduced to safety protocols, meaning you will be driving the truck to the dispatch site, Galo. Ignis and I will prepare you for what to expect today. We usually have a much longer required training session, but,” he pushes up his glasses, “given we need all the help we can get, we’re going to do this the quick and dirty way.”

A hush sweeps over the team, all eyes shifting to Galo. A faint, low squeak steadily grows louder and higher in pitch emanates from Galo, whose eyes sparkle in anticipation. Uh-oh. 

“_I_ get to drive?” he asks, pointing to himself as his excitement grows palpable. “_Me?_”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Remi?” Aina tugs at her hair, eyes darting between Galo and the door. “Are you _sure_ you’re sure?”

“We don’t exactly have a choice.” He sighs, and tosses the keys to Galo. “If no one has any questions, we’re ready to depart.”

“I have a question - are you _sane?!”_ She throws her hands up in the air, getting up from her seat. “We’re not even going to make it _to_ the dispatch site with him at the wheel!”

“Good luck!” Lucia waves and snickers. Aina scoffs and swipes a doughnut before storming toward the door - “I can’t _believe_ I’m gonna die today. I didn’t even write my will yet! What’s my sister going to think?!” - in a turbulent rage. A sinking feeling settles in Lio’s stomach as he glances at Galo.

“So,” he says, getting up to follow the rest of the crew, “you’re a bad driver?”

“What? No way.” He shakes his head vigorously. “Just you watch, Lio - my _supreme_ driving skills are gonna knock your socks off.”

***

Lio has three near-death experiences under his belt.

The first comes from his awakening: the _Promare_ unleashed from within him burned so terribly bright and powerful that his pre-teen body almost couldn’t handle it. Afterward, his body _did_ handle it, almost too well. 

The second comes from the bastard _Foresight,_ trying to use his _Promare_ to power that damnable engine.

And the third - 

The truck’s tires _squeal_ against the asphalt, and Lio, who refuses to wear a seatbelt because whoever manufactured them never accounted for short people existing and the stupid thing dug into his neck every time, is thrown across the vehicle’s carrier space, face slamming against one of the mechs. Remi reaches over and picks him up off the floor before setting him back down properly.

“Rule number forty-four,” he says, buckling Lio in, “always wear the seatbelt whenever Galo’s at the wheel.”

No kidding. Lio rubs his jaw, stars dazzling in his eyes. From the airship’s cockpit, he hears Aina yelling _some_ kind of expletives. He picks up the discarded binder and sets it back in his lap. Rules. So many of them. His gaze glosses over at the tiny text. _For the money,_ his mind whispers, _you’re doing it for the money, keep at it._

Right. He rereads “Safety First, Section E, Part 5.6,” grip tightening on the binder’s covers. Blah blah _blah_ blah blah. 

“You certainly have a better constitution than Galo,” Remi says. “He fell asleep after page one.”

The truck _lurches_ to a stop, the binder absconding from Lio’s hands and sliding across the floor. The engine turns off. He lets out a slow exhale and unbuckles his seatbelt, following both Remi and Ignis outside. The morning sun glints off the shiny red paint, making him wince. 

“Wasn’t that the best driving you’ve ever seen!” Galo yells from the driver’s seat.

“I couldn’t see it, idiot,” Lio deadpans, “I was stuck in the back with no windows.”

What used to be buildings crumpled into piles of dirt, ash, and brick; if anyone lived there, they certainly could not have survived. He pulls on his oversized gloves and safety mask over his nose and mouth - _“Be careful of dangerous fumes_” - and watches Ignis and Remi pull out a square device. Their slow, monotonous beeps glides over the rubble. Above, Aina’s aircraft takes to the skies, checking the perimeter. 

“Lemme show you how it works,” Galo says after emerging from the back of the truck. He taps a few screens on the device. “It’s a heat sensor thingy. Green is the standard color, red and yellow means registerable heat indexes for living people, and faint blue and purple are the, uh, not so living people. Easy peasy, right?”

The radar blips at a steady pace as they split up, traversing the uneven grounds. Tents dot any vacant patches with people glancing at them warily. Several standard trucks sit close to them, drivers handing out care packages to the survivors. Not everyone could get decent shelters, after all. Compared to them, the ex-Burnish got lucky. He pauses when a small child pounds some broken, crumbly bricks together, chunks flying around them. The mother hurries over, shaking her head, taking them away, and the child _wails._

Lio winces. Too familiar. Too - 

“Soooo.” Galo says, interrupting Lio’s brooding. “How’re you feeling? Without the _Promare_ and stuff? You doing okay?”

Of all the conversation topics. He chooses to shrug and turn away. “It will be fine.”

“Will be? So does that mean you’re _not_ okay right now?”

“I meant I am fine.” What Galo lacks in common sense and basic intellect, he sure is insightful about feelings. Lio still doesn’t know how to handle that. “I have a few bruises here and there, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“And emotionally?” The genuine concern in the idiot’s voice causes Lio’s heart to lurch. “I know you said something about, what was it, hearing the _Promare’s_ voices all the time, right? That must be lonely, them going away like that when you’ve had them for so long. Or, uh, I’m _guessing_ you’ve had it for a long time, seeing as we've been enemies or something for thirty years.” He stops his rambling and walking, turning toward his “conversation” partner. “Wait. Are you _thirty?_”

Lio’s lips twist in amusement. “I don’t know, Galo. Do I look thirty to you?”

A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead, brow furrowing in intense thought. “Um,” he says after a beat, licking his lips. “Uh.” Lio can see the myriad of questions in Galo’s eyes - _If he _is_ thirty, is it rude to say he doesn’t because he’s so short? But he doesn’t look like he’s thirty at all. But if I say he does look thirty, then is that also an insult?_ \- and he stifles a laugh. So simple. “Maybe?” Galo settles on as he scratches the back of his head.

“Hm.” Lio kicks a brick across a field of crumpled building. “Then I guess we’ll never know, huh.”

“But - I - _Lio,_” he hangs his head in defeat, “now you’ve got me all kinds of confused.”

“To be fair, that doesn’t take much.”

“Hey - !”

The radar’s beeping ramps up to a startling quickness, loud and demanding. Galo’s protests halt as he fumbles with the heat-detection device. “Really?” he squawks, looking at their utterly decimated surroundings. “Here? But _how?_”

Lio pales.

“Galo,” he says carefully, “how does it detect heat sources again?”

“Uh, well, you hold it flat like this, and it scans the ground with a pulse or something. The stronger the heat signal, the brighter the color and louder the beeps. Why?”

His head jerks up, eyes darting wildly at the sky. Galo blinks and frowns.

“Lio? What’s gotten into you?”

“You weren’t holding it parallel to the ground,” Lio informs, throat growing dry. “When we were arguing, you did -” he takes the device and hoists it upward, and the beeping becomes _loud,_ “ - this.”

Galo’s walkie-talkie hisses, and Aina’s voice comes over the receiver.

_“Guys?”_ she says, voice coming out small. _“What is that?”_

At first, the heat signal, despite its powerfulness, was but a speck on the radar and a tiny blink in the sky. A second passes, and it grows a miniscule amount. Another passes, and it grows larger _still,_ bright and _blue_ and _widening,_ its expanse soon as large as a harvest moon on a clear autumn’s day. Lio blinks, and its circumference doubles, rapidly descending upon the Earth like an out-of-control freight train. 

_“Holy shit,”_ Aina’s voice crackles over the receiver. _“Oh, holy shit, what _is_ that?!”_

The light blots out the sun, the sky, the clouds, and Lio shields his eyes with his arm, a burn peppering his skin in blotches, and someone _shouts,_ voice drowned out by the high-pitched _shriek_ of the Thing’s descent, and for a moment Lio is weightless, body falling backward, arms squeezing the air out of him, and his ears _bleed_ from the cacophony of noise swallowing up their little corner of the world -

(_It’s over._ The _Promare_ floats in his palm, growing ever smaller. _It’s done. Farewell. Goodbye. Thank you, for everything - but. _

And now, he remembers its barely intelligible words, lost to the cries of the rift, but now startlingly clear - as clear as a pin dropping in an empty valley:

_But I think I remember now why we came here, all those years ago. I think..._

_We fled -_)

\- before all becomes nothing.


	3. gal-othy-mos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya guys! thank you again for stopping by! I know it’s a commitment for a plot-heavy fic like this, so I wanna reach out and thank all y’all for the kudos and comments - it really means a lot to me. so! without further ado, here is (a very short, sorry about that but future chapters should be longer) chapter 3! please enjoy!
> 
> also, we have fanart! please check it out!  
1.) [Maki's lovely rendition of Lio's slick af firefighting coat!](https://twitter.com/MakioKuta/status/1177628926811574272?s=20)  
2.) [Lizzy's also lovely rendition of the super slick af firefighting coat!](https://twitter.com/hatsunelizzu/status/1178492989049643009?s=20)

His “mutation” awakens in the late afternoon hours of his twelfth birthday.

The day otherwise, aside from its special occasion, has nothing happening: the sun shines, the birds chirp, the late summer breeze billows out the sheer curtains. A half-eaten cake sits on the counter, drizzled with caramel and chocolate sauce. Small opened boxes and torn gift wrap litter the table. His newest favorite toy - a black stuffed bear sporting a cool biker’s vest and sunglasses - lays face first on the living room floor, abandoned in a hurry. 

A single father bangs on the locked bathroom door, urgent and with increasing force.

“Lio,” his voice, muffled by the thick wood of the door, sounds worried. “Lio, what’s wrong? Lio?”

He plunges into the icy bathwater, steam rising from his body upon impact, in a failed attempt to cool down. Everything _burns._ He gasps and shudders, the sudden fever’s onslaught unrelenting - and then the flames _burst_ from his eye sockets, consuming his entire face, before swallowing up the rest of his body in a haze of purples and greens. The water turns to steam in the first three seconds, and his shaking hand - _oh god oh god I’m a Burnish oh no please_ \- slaps one of the faucet handles to turn on more water, feeling the metal _melt_ in his palms, but the water springs to life in a cascading oasis from the shower head. It sizzles the second it lashes at his skin, but at least it halts the potential _spread_ of the fire. The last thing he wants is for the house to become ashes.

His consciousness ebbs in and out like the tide - _whoosh,_ the flaming waves crash upon a rocky shore, and he screams, _crash,_ the darkness returns in a fell swoop, _kssh,_ bubbling snapshots of his panicked father standing over him saying _something,_ and the process repeats, over, and over, and over, until his body cannot handle it any longer, and the quietest voice whispers:

_It is you. You are the one who will lead us home._

At last -

At _last_ \- 

The flames extinguish, and Lio smolders in the smoke of his newfound identity.

***

“...o.”

A flashlight’s beam beats down on his face. His vision blurs - mint hair, glasses, oh, it’s _Remi,_ Remi with his frazzled expression and tattered coat, wait, what? - as he opens his eyes. Everything hurts. He lets out a grunt as he tries to sit up, only for every muscle to yell at him in unison to _not_ do that. The back of his head bangs against the floor, a groan escaping him. The flashlight turns off. 

“Don’t move.” Remi scowls and presses something against Lio’s leg, who yelps. Everything sounds muffled and distant, or as if he is submerged underwater. His ears strain to catch Remi’s words. “I know, I know. Sorry. It’s a deep gouge, so I want to address it as soon as I can.” 

_What happened?_ He wants to ask, but his voice comes out a faint whisper of its former glory, dry and throaty and losing any and all syllables to produce actual intelligible words. Fabric winds and tighten around his leg.

“The impact, according to initial reports, is about an hour’s drive north from here. Aina is already going to the scene.” Impact site? What? The ground shakes, and now Lio hears the engine of the truck, feels the tires bumping against potholes. Sirens. He hears sirens, muted by the thick reinforced walls of the truck. “She’ll let us know what she finds. But we’re heading to the hospital.”

“I’m _fine,_” Lio spits out at last. Maybe - he has no idea his condition other than pain, pain, and more pain. But he hates hospitals - hates how the doctors _look_ at him like he should be at the vet's clinic instead.

“Yes,” Remi nods, “you’re right. You’re going to be just fine - nothing a few stitches can’t fix. But it’s not _you_ I’m worried about.”

His grim expression worms into Lio’s chest, and his stare shifts to the other side of the truck. Amidst the mechs and other gadgets stand three pods. The pods, as he read in the manual, are “emergency life support tanks,” used to help support a myriad of bodily functions in a pinch in place of an ambulance. Given the high risks of the job, the invention (trademarked by Lucia, of all people) is installed in every fire truck Burning Rescue owns.

In one of the tanks is Galo Thymos.

The truck shakes again, and so does Lio - disbelieving, unwilling to accept what he’s seeing. His eyes widen. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. How. How? Memories trickle into the forefront of his mind like a leaky faucet, slowly and steadily: the heat sensor’s blaring beeps, a speck of light, a _field_ of light, the sensation of falling - 

And then the faucet _bursts_ in a rush: the ground beneath them shakes, Galo yelling to _get down!_, the sensation of rubble digging into his back, and a leftover wall comprised of glass and wire meshings and steel beams and pipes and concrete trembles and collapses right onto -

(“Aren’t you tired?” Lio asks as he unstraps another ex-Burnish from the soul-sucking contraption. He catches them - a small child - and holds them tight. _It’s okay now. Don’t worry._ “You did just go through a lot. Like, saving the world.”

“Yeah, sure. But,” Galo takes the fretful child from Lio’s arms with a beaming smile, “it’s the firefighter’s way to keep at it ‘til everyone’s safe, you know? I can’t just do nothing when I know someone’s in trouble, especially when I can do something about it. That’s the way of the world’s number one--”

“Yes, yes, number one firefighter, we get it.” Despite himself, Lio smiles.

“And besides, it wouldn’t be fair if you pitched in and I did nothing. It wasn’t just _me_ who saved the world,” Galo grins with him, “remember?”)

He remembers. Terribly so, he remembers the _crunch_ of the wall connecting with Galo’s back, a startled cry of pain, a singing heat against Lio’s leg, and the light searing up above the world so high like a sharp diamond in the sky. Then nothing. 

“His luck knows no bounds,” Remi says. He dips a small bag into an opened bottle of cooling gel, sinks it in, seals it, then applies it to Lio’s leg with medical tape. “An exposed steel pipe went right through his side - you can see it, can’t you? But from my initial scans -” 

“Will he be all right,” Lio interrupts, stare never once leaving from Galo’s eerily still face. 

“I’m being hopeful in saying ‘yes,’” Remi admits.

Lio sucks in a sharp breath, temper flaring. Despite better judgment, he forces himself up -_ ow ow ow_ \- and staggers over to the tank, fists pounding against the thick glass. “Hey!” he shouts, nostrils flaring. He bangs on the glass again, harder this time, close to breaking bone. “Hey, dumbass! Who do you think you are, doing something so goddamn _stu -_”

The truck rounds a corner, and Remi catches the flung Lio with astounding ease. 

“I _said_ don’t move.”

Lio grits his teeth. Even the world’s number one stupid firefighter is only a human being, one easily broken and squishy, no matter how much he works out. Mortality never changes regardless if you fight aliens and save the world. No matter how stupid you are, everyone knows that. Galo knows that. And he still - he _still._

His fists throb, pinching the fabric of his torn pants.

Galo saved him. Again.

***

The hospital, overrun with patients from Promepolis’s destruction, manages to accept Galo into critical care almost immediately. The perks of being the world’s (known) savior. Ignis follows the urgent care doctors into the emergency ward, doors closing shut behind them. 

Lio waits for hours in the waiting room for his stitches. Remi waits with him in silence. There is nothing to say; only to stew in the possibility that maybe the pipe _didn’t_ miss all of Galo’s integral organs after all, and the pseudo-miracle deigned to him from the Universe is but a cruel joke. Time slows to a crawl. Minute after minute passes, and no word from Ignis about Galo’s condition. That could only mean bad things, right? He shivers. The waiting room’s AC is on full-blast to combat the summer heat, yet he finds himself colder than ever and wondering how anyone could stand it. He buttons up his custom jacket, which bears only a few knicks in Meis’s handiwork.

“Anything from Aina?” he asks as their wait time reaches a third hour.

Remi shakes his head.

“I don’t think it was a smart idea to send her alone.”

“I asked Varys to go with her. He should be at the scene now.”

“Oh.”

The wait continues, and Lio keeps pretending he’s fine.

***

Twelve stitches in all. Eardrum ruptures in both ears, but according to the doctor, both will heal over the course of several days, albeit with lessened hearing in the meantime. No broken bones (miraculously). No internal damages. Bruises, sure, but Lio is accustomed to their throbbing by now. The stitches would need to be removed at a later date, one scribbled on a business card. Remi tries to tell him to _not_ push himself, but all of Lio’s grade school report cards came back with the same ailing teachers’ comments: _Never listens._

Chief’s thumbs halt their pitter-patters against a cellphone screen as Lio’s angered boot clomps barrel down the otherwise hushed hallway. He fixes his crooked sunglasses as Lio approaches, stopping right in front of him, breathing heavy from traversing a labyrinth of confusing signs pointing in all the wrong directions and up thirty gajillion flights of stairs because elevators are for those with a death wish. 

“How,” the words come out smaller than he likes, “is he?”

Chief inhales slowly. Pauses. Exhales slowly. Fiddles with his sunglasses, then strokes his mustache. Oh no. Lio stops breathing. Oh, _no._ Galo’s dead. Galo’s going to be dead. Chief is going to open his mouth, say _He’s dead,_ and the world’s hero - who survived fire aliens and the bastard Foresight and robot fights - has died because Lio couldn’t have stood three feet away from some stupid _wall_ when the light blinded him, and now - and _now -_

“He’ll be fine.”

The building and apparently unnecessary tension in Lio’s guilt explodes in a sharp bark. “_Fine?_” 

“You almost sound disappointed.”

“I’m n - didn’t he have a _pipe_ go through him!?”

“The diameter of it wasn’t that large.” Chief returns to tapping on his cell phone. “It missed all the important bits. They have him in surgery right now to get it removed. There’s a chance something could go wrong with it, but it’s doubtful. He’ll need a couple weeks to recover fully, but knowing him, he’ll be back on his feet in a week and a half, doctor’s note be damned.” 

Lio pinches the bridge of his nose, a torrent of aggravated and tired complaints dancing on the tip of his tongue. He’s going to throttle Galo the moment he wakes up and is allowed visitors. He’s going to have the group rebranded as _Lio Fotia’s 24/7 Rescue and Repair Squad of Incredible Pissiness and Annoyance. _

“Are you crying?” asks Remi, incredulous.

_“No,_” Lio spits out, ducking his head from view. That moron. That absolute dumbass. If the pipe doesn’t kill Galo, then he’ll just have to finish the job for putting Lio through so much pan - well, not-panic. Obviously. And he’s not worried, either. Not one bit. Okay, perhaps a little bit, sure, as colleagues - especially since they have yet to fulfill each other’s promise of rebuilding the world. Well, okay, then he can’t really kill Galo for his little so-called heroic stunt. Maybe he’ll force him to eat a ghost pepper. That’ll teach him.

Remi and Chief exchange skeptical looks, only to shrug.

“Aina texted me.” Chief pockets the cell phone and stands. “She says the crash site has a ‘weird-looking’ spaceship in the center. And,” he adds, brow furrowing, “the pilot survived.”

“Survived?” Remi gawks. “From a landing like that?”

“And they’re conscious. Healthy, even. Apparently,” his frown deepens, “they want to meet our leaders as soon as possible to talk. Aina, Varys, and dispatched city police are escorting them to Promepolis under heavy supervision as we speak. With Galo now safe here, we are to join them to ensure Promepolis’s and the city council’s safety.” He glances to Lio. “If you’re up to it. You did just have stitches, as Remi told me.”

“I can do it. It doesn’t hurt that bad.” _Not really. Not as much as it could. Can’t have both of us unable to keep working at our promise when we just began._ He swallows thickly to banish any not-tears and not-snot from escaping him. “Sucks to be them though, Foresight’s indicted. We don’t have any official leaders for Promepolis right now.”

“Well. We do. And they’re on their way to meet with her right now in City Hall.”

What? Lio places his hands on his hips and wrinkles his nose. “I don’t remember having an election to replace Foresight?”

“Given the circumstances,” Remi interjects, “the city council would have implemented an emergency substitute to handle the demands of Promepolis. So whoever was under Foresight in terms of power would therefore -” He stops. “Chief. Wait. You don’t mean _her,_ do you? I thought she got indicted, too?”

Chief shakes his head. “They have no evidence on her, only Foresight. Furthermore, she has the most experience of the council. In their eyes, they’d be foolish to _not_ nominate her for the role.”

A crackle prickles in Lio’s chest, eyes widening with their implications. His hands ball into fists, the corner of his upper lip twitching. “You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me,” he snarls. 

They may have stopped Foresight, but there writhes his right hand, digging its nails into the dirt and ever inching closer toward Lio’s throat. He thought the ex-Burnish might find peace at last, but that may be impossible with _her_ in charge. 

“I’m not,” Chief says, and Lio’s stomach sinks. “Biar Colossus was instituted as emergency governor of the city, as of this morning.”


	4. ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there, it's been a hot minute. tried to nanowrimo, failed, so here I am, back at it again in krispy kreme, serving up hot updates that'll inevitably crash and burn. enjoy!

Once upon a time, in one of the last bastions for humanity, the media wove a spell of absolute utter nonsense over the citizens of Promepolis about the ever-popular Kray Foresight. Article upon article circulated on everyone’s news feed, about the new stylish assistant ever following Foresight’s footsteps, as if his shadow decided one day to become corporeal and don clothes. Rumors sported almost immediately: _his girlfriend? His secret lover? His long lost wife?_

Her value immediately became attached to what she was to Foresight that the media failed to glimpse at the sheer magnitude of her formidable intelligence and outstanding abilities. Her doctorate in many fields, ranging from physics to modern literature, fell to the way side to this image of an object for another man. Her titles of Vice President of the Republic and _President_ of the Foresight Foundation meant nothing to them. So she pretended they meant little to her, feigning as a simple “yes man” for year after agonizing year. But she knew this game, played it well. All she needed to do was adhere to Foresight’s madness until the madness itself claimed him. She bided her time, and, lo and behold, Foresight’s lack of - well, foresight, cast his undeserved glory into a pitiable damnation, one he would live out in the cells of Promepolis’s most _wonderful_ of prisons.

Oh well. She sips at her tea. Cross her legs. Sets the tea down on the table, and gazes out City Hall’s lone unbroken window. In the sea of incompetence, in the ocean of abysmal wreckage, she - _not_ Foresight - floated to the surface unscathed. While fellow council members scrambled, _she_ took control of the reigns, salvaged their pathetic careers by dispatching the emergency plans to recovery, and even started to rebuild relations between the ex-Burnish and _normal_ persons of society.

All in two days.

She takes another sip of tea, and smiles to herself. Idiots. All that remains is to build another corral to gather the swine all in one place. And then. Then, all that waiting would pay off. All the cheap tricks, the sly smiles, the word of mouth manipulations - the dirty work - it would at last pave the way for the true future everyone so desires.

Just a little longer now. 

“Ma’am.” The poor intern - a mere scrap of a fellow, scrawny and having buckteeth that lends him the nickname “Toothy” behind his back - approaches, clipboard squeezed tightly into his chest. “The - the _Galo Thymos Spectacular 24/7 Rescue and Repair Squad of Dreams and Prosperity_ have, um, paged our emergency lines? They, uh.” He fixes his taped-up glasses. “They say that bright light was a ship?”

She nods. “And?”

“The, uh.” He coughs and straightens his back. “The pilot? Survived? And wants to meet you? Or, uh, demands to meet you?”

She nods again, and finishes her tea. Not a day too soon nor late. She rises from her chair, heels clacking against the linoleum floor, before lending Toothy a small smile. She squeezes his meatless shoulder. “Good work. Prepare the other council members and tell them to gather in the conference room.” 

“Ma’am? Are you sure it’s good to meet with. You know?” He bites his bottom lip. “Aliens? Or what we think are aliens? We just dealt with aliens before. Ones that ravaged the whole planet? Remember?”

“I have it in good faith that these aliens come here with an olive branch, not with a pile of ashes and a drive to destroy all there is. Now go, Herm. I will not ask twice.”

Herm bows at a perfect ninety degree angle - “Yes, ma’am!” - and scurries away like a headless chicken. She watches him disappear from the room before chuckling and moving a stray hair back with the rest of her bangs. The day grows late, yet she can feel a fresh breath of humanity’s new dawn whispering across the land - not quite brave enough to breach the horizon, but its faintest light begins to penetrate the perpetual darkness.

Humanity’s next evolution must be perfected - no matter what. No matter how. 

***

The IBUProfen kicks in by the time the large escort truck drives by the hospital. Every bruise is but a badge of decoration on his body, honoring Lio with the grand title of “not dead and ready to deck Biar Colossus square in the face.” The Burning Rescue - er, Galo Thymos’s Spectacular - screw it, the helicopter of dubious naming origins (of which Lio will decide upon later) lands in the crumbling parking lot. Aina waves from the cockpit, trying (and failing miserably) to smile. The rest of the Rescue and Repair squad slips into the helicopter’s special carton for airlifting victims, and it lifts off seconds later.

_“How is he?”_ her worried voice crackles over the intercom.

“He’s Galo,” Remi answers, slumping against one of the walls. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and he doesn’t bother to correct them. “He’s going to need bed rest, but otherwise he’ll be fine.”

The audible relief in her sigh _whooshes_ through the speakers. _“Thank goodness. The winds are strong today, so if you could catch them up to speed for me Varys, I’d appreciate it. Talk to you on land._”

The intercom silences, and Varys lets out a long, tired sigh. 

“Uh. So. How to say this.” He readjusts his baseball cap. “Aliens exist. Outside of the _Promare, _as Aina clocked me in about.” He twiddles his thumbs for an extended pause. “When I arrived, the pilot was already out of the ship, walking and talking and completely unhurt. They sure are… Something. The PPD has already taken them into protective custody, but I don’t think anyone knows how to handle ‘em.”

“Are they violent?” Remi asks. Varys shakes his head.

“It’s… how do I… gimme a sec.” He presses his knuckles against his mouth and rocks back and forth in thought. His brow furrows. “Weirdly _charismatic,_” he finishes. “You’ll see what I mean when we get to City Hall.”

Ignis grumbles in thought. His mustache bristles. “What’s the status of that so-called ‘ship’ they crashed.”

“In better condition than our city. Never seen anything like it. The armored eighteener is hauling it in for the scientists to look at. Lucia’s with them, too. Heris has taken over the operation to disassemble Foresight’s ship in the meantime.”

Great. Grand. Wonderful. Lio resists the urge to pop in a few more pills to oppress the oncoming headache threatening to make his day even more lovely than before. Another round of aliens just after the _Promare_ cleansed the planet with flames and departing through a space-time rift. But seeing as how more sentient this alien is (as Varys’s initial assessment proves), it didn’t seen to attach itself to human beings.

Which makes Lio all the more wary. The _Promare_ were at least direct with their intentions in their whispery-screams to burn everything to the ground, and their (somewhat) limited intelligence meant that the _Promare’s_ true calling was never in question. They live. They burn. They burn again. They die. Repeat. Charisma bespoke of familiar encounters with that damnable _Kray Foresight._ Charisma only begets sweet honey tongues and sticky fingers robbing the chessboard of their opponent’s pieces bit by bit.

Well. Luckily, Lio has _two_ fists: one for Colossus, and one for _possible threat to the world they literally just began to fix up._ His leg twitches impatiently for the helicopter to land as Ignis, Remi, and Varys discuss more about the unfolding situation. 

“Speaking of home.” Varys turns his head to the irate Lio. “When we finish fixing up the base, which room do you want?”

The conversational whiplash makes Lio do a double-take. “Which room do I - I don’t understand.”

“Well, you’re one of us now, right?” He gives a lopsided grin. “As firefighters, we all live at the base to be on-call whenever people need us. Well, not right _now,_ since our place is kind of a mess, but usually we do. It’s free room and board for our services. So, which one do you want? If I were you, I wouldn’t take the one next to Aina’s. She’s always blasting music until two in the morning.”

“You keep making the assumption that this is a permanent deal,” Lio grouses, arms folding across his chest. “To me, this is a temporary step to a greater whole. I’ve got the ex-Burnish to house, relations to help fix… Being a part of this is just to help rebuild the world, but I’m not dead-set on becoming a firefighter when I have bigger fish to fry.”

A silence falls over the compartment. 

“Oh,” Varys says at last, lowering his head. “Sorry. I guess that was kinda presumptuous of me. You probably already have a place to call home, huh.”

Lio turns away. A place to call home? His mind wanders to Gueira and Meis, both of whom are working hard on his behalf to relocate the ex-Burnish out of the city-provided shelter. (A flicker of another familiar face threatens to break the surface, but he shoves it aside.) With the _Promare,_ he found shelter wherever his motorcycle took him, prowling the late-night streets for a temporary haven. 

But now. Now, in a ruined city with too many responsibilities tying him down, his opens roads and crashing under crumbling bridges came to a screeching halt. 

“Not really,” he mutters. Varys perks up and hooks an arm around Lio’s neck all buddy-buddy like, akin to an excitable puppy who found his new best friend.

“Yeah? Then you should totally live with us. Heck, we should be room-neighbors! When it gets all rehooked up and stuff, we can play some hoops, watch some games, kick back with some good ol’ classic knitting needles and make some hats and mittens for the kiddos! Oh, the kiddos are the ones in the foster system. I can make a _mean_ bunny-print patterned set of mittens, let me tell you.”

“It’s true.” Remi nods. “They put mine to shame.”

“You ever knitted before? I can teach you.” His brimming excitement almost deterred the burning rage simmering in Lio’s stomach. “I’m sure some of my needles survived. It’s pretty easy. There’s this knitting club down at the library every Tuesday, buncha old grannies, you know how it is, but we have a blast. You should come with! Once, uh, the library’s fixed.”

Before Lio can decline, the speaker crackles back to life. 

_“About to land. Hold onto something, the roof has a lot of clutter and these winds are just atrocious.”_

The compartment shudders and grinds against concrete. Somewhere Lio hears a whining _squeak,_ then sees a tiny rodent (wearing a mini firefighter hat, no less!) on Varys’s shoulder. Was that always there? He doesn’t have time to ask questions as the compartment door opens, blinding sunlight greeting them to their newest and highly unwanted duty of playing “alien babysitter.”

_And ass-kicking Biar Colossus, _his brain adds, and he nods to himself.

Right. Can’t forget the most important part.

***

Half of the old City Hall building gave way to the _Promare’s_ earth-cleansing, but the other half remained standing (albeit singed here or there). The bizarre symmetry of how _clean_ the _Promare_ sliced through the building brings about many more questions about Lio’s old friends, but ones that can no longer be answered - lest he traverses through a space-time rift somehow. Maybe in his next life. Now, though, his attention shifts to their newest alien… companion.

Zeuares. 

There stands Zeuares (a name Lio rereads a few times off the sticker name tag in a half-hearted effort to get the pronunciation right), a gargantuan hulking mass whose crystalline skin glitters in the hazard lighting, whose four perfectly round aquamarine eyes batted at their guests, whose tufts of golden hair braided all the way down to the floor, whose oddly bony hands clap upon Galo Thymos’s Spectaular 24/7 Rescue and Repair Squad of Dreams and Prosperity less-than-thrilled entrance. To call him “alien” did little justice to how straight from a sci-fi comic book the man - woman - person - appears to have jumped out of. (“How did they get here before us?” asks Varys, to which an equally confused Aina just shrugs.)

Beside them sits Biar Colossus, and rage burns in Lio’s stomach, visceral but a mere pale imitation of its former self without the _Promare_ to guide him. Trimmed prim and proper, she bares little scars from that _Kray Foresight’s_ homicidal savior complex. He should fix that. He _really_ should fix that. He takes one step forward, gloves’ leather straining from how tightly he balls his fists, and - 

\- Chief grabs his shoulder, stopping him. He walks ahead of the group and stands at the other end of the oval table, where all the other council members are seated. 

“I see you’ve already met,” he says, terse.

“I didn’t want to hamper your ‘valiant’ efforts by extending this meeting too long with mere introductions,” Colossus replies. Her ice-laden smile widens a fraction. “So the PPD sped up the process.”

More like she wants to sink her dirty nails into Zeuares to get them on board with whatever equally-dirty plans she has for Promepolis. A retort nearly escapes him, but Aina casually bumps into him, abruptly ending his vehement protests in a coughing fit.

“I see,” Chief says, ignoring Lio’s immediate need for water (of which Remi finds and provides instead). “Then what else are we here for?”

Biar turns to Zeuares, who lumbers forward in such grace that Lio’s brain struggles to comprehend how something so _large_ could possibly perform. They outstretch a hand and smile - jagged, pristine pearly whites. 

“I am _ever_ so looking forward to working with you, sir,” Zeuares all but chirps in a sweet-laden tongue. Aina flushes sixteen shades of red as the alien bows and presses a humble kiss upon Chief’s knuckles.

Silence. The council members and PPD all look as uncomfortable yet perplexed as Lio feels.

“Work with us,” Chief repeats at last, and Biar finally decides to grace them with manners by rising to her feet.

“Indeed,” Biar says, standing between them. “Zeuares is but an envoy of his people. A missionary, so to speak. They are part of a universal coalition who desire to aid those who need it after disasters. Such as,” her glance slides over to Lio, “what happened with the _Promare._”

“I do _very_ much apologize for my _grandiose_ entrance.” Zeuares wrings his(?) hands together and tilts his head, all four of his eyes closing. “I _underestimated_ the amount of gravitational force your _itsy-bitsy_ planet exudes, hence my, ah, rough landing, so to speak. When we received the emissions of _foreign_ activity in your sphere, I deployed right away to come to your rescue, but it seems _you_ already did all the heavy lifting!” He titters, and his eyes open, brimming with unshielded sincerity. “So please, at _least_ allow me to help you rebuild.”

Oh, sure, nothing wrong with believing an alien who, in the all of maybe four hours or so of being on their planet, spoke perfect fucking English and bears the countenance of a 19th century British gentleman. Nothing suspicious at all about that. He exchanges looks with Varys, who looks equally on-edge about the entire conversation.

“Zeuares’s kind, as he told me,” Biar continues before anyone can air their concerns, “is a philanthropic species that thrives on correcting the universe’s mistakes. One could say that is their sole purpose.”

“Indeed, indeed. We aim for a universe in _harmony,_” he spreads out his long arms, “and _peace._ With such _lofty_ goals, I am _sure_ you can imagine how much _work_ we have. Hence they only sent _me,_ and me _alone,_ to attend to your, ah, woes, shall we say. We apologize for our seemingly _stringent_ offerings, but I assure you - for a planet of this size, one of _me_ is enough.”

An unsaid _for now_ lingers as a silent afterthought. 

“And what exactly do you think you can do for us?” Chief asks. “We are a small sector in Promepolis’s network that’s currently specializing in just repairs and helping people - wouldn’t you prefer to work with the PPD? They have a bigger reach than our own.”

“With such a _wonderful _name like _Rescue and Repair Squad_ of _Dreams_ and _Prosperity,_” Zeuares’s eyes glittered, “how could I _possibly_ yearn to work with anyone else?”

Oh, Lio is so going to strangle Galo for that stupid god-forsaken name. Everyone in their team let out a collective sigh. 

“I sense an _immense_ amount of _distrust_ from all of you.” Zeuares’s thick eyebrows furrow close together. “For which I do not _blame_ you. But, please understand, I am indeed here to help, and I _truly_ mean it. If you sense _any_ inkling of animosity from me, please do not hesitate to let me know so we can address it _civilly,_ thereby enabling me to _correct_ my behavior.”

“Not that it would be needed,” Biar coolly adds. “He has already proven to be a model citizen to our council members. I am certain having another pair of hands to help rebuild our Republic as quickly and as safely as possible would be most welcome. Don’t you agree,” her glance shifts to Chief, “Ignis?”

Yeah, that doesn’t make Lio feel any better. He folds his arms across his chest and looks to Chief, who’s face betrays nothing.

“A moment, if you will.” Remi holds up a hand and gives a sheepish smile before pulling the group into a huddle away from listening ears. “Okay,” he whispers, exasperated, “the fact that she wants us to work with an alien after assisting in the incarceration of the Burnish raises all _kinds_ of red flags. But I get the feeling she’s going to force us to let this guy into our group anyways. What do we do?”

“We let her,” Chief replies. “Not much else we can do.”

“It’s not the alien-guy I’m worried about,” Aina adds. “It’s _her_ that’s kind of freaky.”

“You think she’s trying to use him as a pawn for something by having him be a part of our team?” Varys frowns. “That’s messed up. Dude just got here. At least invite him to dinner first.”

“She is playing a risky move by sending her best piece right in the center of our side of the chessboard, though.” Remi hums in thought. “This could turn out bad for her, too - whatever it is she has planned. We _do _all agree she’s up to something, right?”

Everyone nods.

“Well, Chief certainly doesn’t hire idiots. Sans one.” 

Galo would be head-over-heels for this glittery space-man, Lio has no doubts. Ugh. They have to nip this in the bud _before_ he gets back from his hospital stay. 

“So here’s our counterattack: let the guy in, befriend him, and use a reverse Uno card to flip-flop whatever plans she has back in her face.” 

“Oh my god, did you really just say ‘reverse Uno card.’” Aina groans and shakes her head. “You need a life, Remi. One that _doesn’t_ involve ancient Internet memes.”

“My _point_ is,” he interjects, pushing up his glasses, “we accept Mr. Fancy Man into our ranks and hopefully quash whatever hopes she has. I have a sinking feeling it’s to fulfill whatever Foresight failed to do with his plan for humanity. She was the president of his foundation, after all. When it existed, I mean.”

“But how would she use _our_ group for anything?” Aina’s frown deepens. “That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense.”

She has a point. For all the obvious Nefarious Evils™ Biar Colossus exudes in her very aura, the _source_ still needed to be scoped out somehow. The former Burning Rescue is just a lump of firefighters with one of the highest fatality rates in Promepolis. She clearly needs the alien for something - so why send him into a dangerous job? Why not keep him close by her side, where she can keep an eye on him and manipulate him for whatever her end goals are? Why let this alien go free seemingly on a whim when she had the nerve to help that damnable _Foresight_ round up the ex-Burnish like cattle to have them nearly slaughtered? 

Remi shrugs. “That’s what we have to figure out on the fly. Think everyone is up for it? We’ll catch Lucia and Galo up to speed later.”

Biar clears her throat behind them, impatient, and the group collectively nods. There is not much else they can do but try to undermine her with what little information they have. For now. Chief turns around and clasps his hands together with Zeuares, a rare smile(?) lifting his mustache. The council holds their breath as Biar tilts her head in mild surprise. Chief gives Zeuares a firm shake.

“We’d be _happy_ to have you on the team,” he says, sunglasses glinting, “partner.”


End file.
